


you give me miles and miles of mountains (and I’ll ask for the sea)

by meeks00



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They kept in touch. Ray even sent him a letter once, after Walt re-upped without him. Pink paper in a pink envelope with careful, loopy writing and the smell of floral perfume — probably rubbed on from a magazine sample. He signed it ‘Susie Rottencrotch’ and left kiss-shaped lips beside the signature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you give me miles and miles of mountains (and I’ll ask for the sea)

**Author's Note:**

> In lieu of _Suits_ fic (going nowhere fast), I have GK fic! Am apparently in a Ray and Walt mood recently. For [](http://why-me-why-not.livejournal.com/profile)[**why_me_why_not**](http://why-me-why-not.livejournal.com/). :D Title is from “Volcano” by Damian Rice.

They kept in touch.

Ray even sent him a letter once, after Walt re-upped without him. Pink paper in a pink envelope with careful, loopy writing and the smell of floral perfume — probably rubbed on from a magazine sample. He signed it ‘Susie Rottencrotch’ and left kiss-shaped lips beside the signature.

It was natural to become close to the men you served with, Walt thought, but he hid his grin and kept that letter out of reach of the rest of his platoon.

When Kim sent him letters during OIF, she sprayed it with a citrusy scent. Walt never thought much about that, but this time around he wondered what magazine Ray might’ve used the perfume from, if he went to his notorious Nevada, Missouri Wal-Mart to pick out the lipstick color specially.

Walt wrote back to Ray with equally careful handwriting, cursive letters even like how they learned in elementary school, and didn’t call Ray a cocksmoker or a dicksuck or anything for the lipstick or the pink stationary. He did mention that they didn’t get any milkshake MREs this time, that they got MRE cookies instead, which weren’t half bad. And he wrote about how they actually had enough lube for the Mark-19 and the .50-cal, but Walt manned the SAW, so it didn’t really even out.

It was as if a lot of things didn’t even out between this time and the last, between the company he had to keep and the supplies they did or didn't have.

When he returned stateside, he and Ray planned a reunion. They forgot to send out the other invitations though, but fuck it.

Walt booked his flight on his laptop while he watched TV until the infomercials came on. When he showed up on Ray’s doorstep the next morning with a hastily packed duffel, Ray didn’t look surprised. He just spread his arms wide with that familiar shit-eating grin and squeezed Walt tight until the air left his lungs with a surprised ‘oof.’

A cat ran out and curled once around Walt’s leg before going around the house.

“That’s not mine,” Ray muttered into his ear.

“It’s totally yours,” Walt replied.

Ray squeezed him tighter around the neck until it almost hurt. “I’ll have you know that I don’t keep stray cats, thanks very much. They might have diseases. I just feed them. And give them names. And let them crash on my sofa. Sometimes. Like stray Hassers.”

Walt laughed. He had been there once before, after they served together. He had grown accustomed to fighting the cats for room on the couch.

Last time Walt was here, Ray made him go hiking in the smothering heat of an Indian summer — miles out into the woods where only Ray could see a trail. They’d stripped their clothes and jumped into the river in just their skivvies. They were both a little too skinny with too many ribs peeking through farmers’ tan-pale skin.

Ray insisted on jumping from a questionable tree branch, and he lost his briefs down the river after a particularly impressive flip-dive. He complained the whole way back about dick burn from his jeans zipper. Walt had laughed as expected, looked away so Ray wouldn’t see his cheeks turn red, and he said it served him right for showing off.

Ray also took him to dinner at his momma’s house about 25 miles away, where they ate burnt chicken and burnt potatoes and some sort of undercooked veggie mash. Walt remembered eating until he felt sick, half because it was a momma's home cooking, the other half because it was still delicious as shit. Ray’s mom pet his hair a lot, which made Walt blush and Ray laugh.

Then there were afters in the form of a whole apple pie Ray baked specially for the occasion back at his place, and Walt had to lie down so nothing came back up because he ate too much. Ray laughed so hard he almost threw up himself. When Walt passed out on the couch, his mouth tasted like ash from the way the couch smelled, tangy from close calls with stomach acid, and a little like apples.

This time, Walt waited a long moment before he finally unwound Ray’s arms from his neck. Then he walked in and sacked out stomach-down on the couch, which no longer smelled like cigarette smoke. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He pillowed his head on a royal blue microbead pillow that hadn’t been there last time and didn't think about how that was new too.

Blearily, he watched as Ray rearranged the decorative vase and the stack of books on the coffee table so Walt could see past them to the TV.

He must’ve fallen asleep in the middle of _Iron Chef_ because, when he woke, Ray sat on the other end of the couch. Walt’s feet were warm where they were cushioned on his lap. His shoes were off. He felt rested and a little dazed and stared at Ray's strangely small grin. It was soft and a little blurry, but that might've just been from Walt's sleep-crusty eyes.

“How long’ve I been out?” he asked. It smelled like home cooking, and Ray was wearing the same stupid-ass 'Grill Sergeant' apron he'd worn last time when he baked the pie.

“Long enough,” Ray replied. He patted Walt’s ass, then knocked Walt’s feet off his lap. “Get up. My shepherd’s pie is about ready.”

“What’s shepherd’s pie?” Walt asked, rubbing his eyes. Ray pet his hair, ran his fingers through it even though there wasn’t much there since he’d just gotten back from his tour. Walt laughed instead of knocking his hands away. “It better have lots of meat in it.”

“I’ll give you meat,” Ray replied, slapping the back of his head.

It did have lots of meat. And a mashed potato crust and veggies mixed in — corn and peas and evenly chopped carrots.

“All these veggies are gettin' in the way of the beef,” Walt said, but all of it went into his mouth without discrimination.

“You need your greens, Hasser,” Ray replied, frowning at him.

“Corn is yellow. Carrots are orange. Just sayin', dog.”

Ray tried to start a food fight.

Walt refused to play. “That’s a waste of food!” he protested. "Think of the MRE's I've just suffered through, would you?" He scraped mashed potato bits from his cheek and licked his fingers clean.

Ray eyed him carefully and then shook his head with a grin.

Walt didn’t make himself sick eating half the dish, but he did have to undo a notch on his belt. Ray took a moment to make fun of his redneck belt buckle before he brought out the pie. This time it was cherry.

Ray allowed some recuperative time before he hauled Walt’s ass out the door. It was probably due to his million-dollar training, but Walt remembered the route to the river. He overtook Ray somewhere halfway into the woods and laughed about how somebody was losing their death-dealing, blood-crazed warrior fitness.

They may have scuffled right there, and Walt maybe worried about poison ivy, but they were both grinning later when they made it to that ridiculously tall tree by the river, despite the itch. Ray had one arm hooked around Walt’s neck, but he shoved him away and told him to strip down.

Walt was sticky with sweat and covered a little bit with dirt, so he stripped slowly. He dropped his jeans and then pulled off his shirt, and he was surprised when, on the other side of tugging up his ribbed collar, Ray stood there still fully clothed and watching him.

“What’s the matter?” Walt asked. He threw his tee at Ray, watched the other man catch it without batting an eye.

Ray nodded his chin forward at him. “You goin’ for a record or somethin’?”

Walt tilted his head in askance before he looked down. He could count his ribs, saw a patchwork quilt of purple, yellow, and green from where his body armor dug into his lower torso. There were also new spots of red from where he scratched because of the possible poison ivy, which went along with the tattoos on his forearm.

He crossed his arms, feeling oddly self-conscious even though it was nothing Ray hadn’t seen before — hadn’t had before himself.

“What?”

“I’d make a crack about a xylophone, but I like to reserve those jokes for _America’s Next Top Model_.”

Walt forced a laugh, eager to change the subject. “You watch that show?”

“'Course not,” Ray said, as if playing along. "They turned me down at the St. Louis auditions. I'm boycotting that shit."

Walt laughed, but it was a hard thing, and he wasn't used to it being like that - not with Ray.

It was quiet then, as if even Ray couldn’t find anything to say, so Walt shrugged and ran forward, diving quickly into the water. It was cold, like ice touching his skin, feeling numb until it felt good after the heat they'd trudged through.

He stayed submerged for a while, listening to the magnified sound of his heart beating, ticking faster than the seconds passed. He surfaced only when Ray splashed into the water.

Walt swam over and wrapped his arms around Ray’s neck, dunking him just when Ray broke the surface. They kicked at each other when they swam up toward the bank again, laughs muted by the water as they fought to submerge each other.

Later, spent and half-drowned, they crawled back onto dry grass and lied out in the sun, dirt and dried leaves sticking to their wet skin.

Walt crossed an arm over his face to block out the sun, intent on evening out his farmer’s tan from being overseas. He jerked in surprise when careful fingers traced just below his ribcage.

“Didn’t learn from last time at all, did you,” Ray said.

Walt let his arm drop and saw Ray leaning over him, legs crossed under him. “What’re you on about now?”

In response, Ray laid his hand flat on Walt’s torso. It was warm, tickled a little bit from how light the pressure was, and Walt fought to breathe evenly beneath it. Ray slid it up over each rib on his right side, smoothed carefully around the bruises, skimmed upward until he grazed slightly over where the flak vest chaffed at the skin by his armpits.

“What’re you doin’?” Walt asked. His voice was soft. He didn’t mean for it to be.

“You been eating much since you got back?” Ray’s voice was quiet too.

Walt half-wondered if they were even really talking to each other over the sound of the river splashing nearby. It was the kind of quiet that was so loud, with the breeze in the trees and the rolling water and the birds in the background like you weren't supposed to disturb a live song. “I — ” He didn’t remember what he was going to say next.

Ray was slipping his hand down, joined it with his other one and smoothed both over Walt's chest, over the mirroring bruises in colorful concentric circles, from purple to yellow, below Walt’s ribcage. He pressed there lightly, and Walt gasped.

“Ray,” he said, pushing to ease up onto his elbows.

Ray spread one hand flat over his sternum and pushed Walt back until he was flat on the ground again. “Lie still. I’m workin’ here,” Ray replied.

Walt watched him carefully. He was painfully away of how hard he was getting, wondered if there was a way that Ray might’ve missed that fact with Walt only wearing his still-wet boxers.

When Ray unfolded from his sitting position and settled straddling Walt’s hips, Walt figured that Ray probably hadn't missed a thing. He never did before, anyway.

Walt was incredibly hot where they touched, wet material soaking up body warmth like a heat conductor. Cool water dripped from Ray's hair onto Walt’s face, his chest.

Walt shivered. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he let them lay awkwardly in the dirt at his sides. But then Ray solved the issue by taking both and setting them down on his hips. Walt’s hands fit there against sharp juts of bone and firm muscle. He squeezed, just slightly, and he couldn’t help but jerk his hips upwards when Ray pressed down against him with the pressure, hands hard on Walt’s chest.

“I know you think you’re a big boy and all, goin’ off and killin’ our nation’s enemies and shit,” Ray said casually, leaning forward so he rested his weight on his elbows. His knees pressed tight against Walt’s hips, and Walt wondered absently, over the fact that almost all of his attention was draining downward into his dick, when Ray got so damn flexible. “But you really ought to take better care of yourself.”

“I do take care of myself. You haven’t been out that long, Ray,” Walt said. He bit down on his lip when Ray bared his teeth in a smile, when he ground his hips down again. Walt could feel Ray’s cock pressing against his belly. “Is pussy civilian life makin’ you forget what it’s like?” he asked, and he wasn’t surprised when his voice came out a bit strangled.

Ray smoothed his hands across Walt’s shoulders, drew them down until he reached his hands. Then he gripped both of Walt’s wrists and tugged until Walt let him cross them above his head. “I’ll show you ‘pussy civilian,’ Marine,” Ray said.

His lips tasted a little bit salty, from the water maybe, possibly from lunch. Walt didn’t really care. He just wanted more. He opened his mouth beneath Ray’s, sucked his tongue and grinned against Ray’s moan. Walt bucked upwards again, tried to free his arms so he could pull Ray closer, tighter against himself, but Ray held him steady, pressed down hard with his hips and his hands and laughed against his lips.

“Whoa, boy,” he said, pulling away slightly.

“I don’t — ” Walt started to say, and he had to swallow at the feel of so much skin sliding against his own as Ray moved.

Then Ray stilled above him. “OK,” he said. “OK.” He released Walt’s arms and rose all the way up on his arms, lifting the rest of his body as if in a push up.

Walt realized that he was moving away. “Stuff - uh, lube?” he quickly asserted. “We ain't got any essentials.”

Ray froze again, and Walt took the moment to run his hands along the wiry lines of Ray's arms, over dark tattoos and firm muscle, across soft skin. Ray dropped his body back down along Walt’s length, settling one leg between Walt’s thighs.

“Ah.” He grinned an open grin until it turned into a kiss against Walt’s own smile. “That need to be prepared and not actually having shit is still fresh in your mind from the Corps, huh? Well, I haven’t completely turned into a civilian yet, Hasser,” Ray said finally, pulling away. “I think we can make do for now.”

When Walt raised his arms and re-crossed them at the wrist, Ray looked at him for a minute. “Shit,” he said, and kissed Walt again. He settled one hand firmly on Walt’s wrists, used the other to shove Walt’s boxers down.

When Ray got a hand around him, Walt breathed out slowly, sucked on Ray’s lower lip. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

Ray pressed his nose into the crown of Walt’s cheek. “What were you thinkin’, re-uppin’ without me?” he asked, squeezing Walt’s dick tight and pumping him slowly. His voice was soft, breath warm against his ear, and he was undoing Walt completely in the way that his rough hand wasn't already. “Look at you wastin’ away without your ol’ pal.”

“You tryin’ to get me to cry ‘uncle’ or something, Ray?” Walt replied, voice breaking.

Ray pulled away slightly to grin at him, jerking Walt’s cock between them faster, holding him down by the wrists hard enough to leave more bruises, but Walt didn’t care. These were ones he wanted, wouldn't have minded if they lasted.

“Is that what you say when you come, Walt? What about with the chicks you sleep with? You call ‘em ‘baby?’ ‘Sweetheart?’ ‘Honey?’” He leaned forward and trailed kisses across Walt’s jaw, sucked at the spot below his ear. “Is that what you’re gonna call me? ‘Uncle?’ How ‘bout ‘daddy’? Huh, Walt?”

Walt was so close that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say anything at all. “Ray,” was all he could say instead. He started struggling to free himself, to free his arms to pull Ray harder against him, his hips so he could jerk up harder, faster, into those fingers. “Fuck. Ray.”

“Louder,” Ray said, slowing his hand and pressing his forehead against Walt’s. Walt whined against his lips when Ray ground his own cock against him. “Say it louder.”

“Ray. _Ray,_ ” he said again, and came hard all over their chests. Shit. Took no time at all, but he'd just gotten back from a fuckin' tour, and someone else's hand always did more than his own. And this time it was _Ray's._

He shut his eyes for a moment, but he opened them again when he heard, felt, Ray’s breathing pick up. He watched Ray smear his come over a hand and start jerking himself off. It didn’t take long for him to come next. Walt might've ribbed him a bit for that, but Ray bit down on his lip and shut his eyes tight when he came, his one hand still holding Walt’s above his head. It wasn't something Walt wanted to interrupt.

Afterward, Ray slid halfway off of him, but he left his leg pressed between Walt’s and one arm tossed over Walt’s sticky chest.

Walt might’ve felt self-conscious then, but he was exhausted and warm and still stuffed from their lunch. Ray wasn’t calling him a cocksucker or a dicksuck or anything, even.

“Was that letter your way of checkin’ up on me, Ray?” he asked after a while. He turned his head to see Ray crack open one eye.

“Maybe,” Ray replied.

Walt couldn’t help it that he was grinning, and he poked Ray’s arm. Ray responded by slapped their palms together hard on top of Walt’s chest, making him cough out a pained laugh. He left his hand there.

Walt didn’t move away.

//


End file.
